


looking for yourself out there

by haloud



Series: made it through the milky way [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, M/M, Meet-Cute, Michael is an unreliable narrator, Oral Sex, Past Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin, Past Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Praise Kink, malex endgame, mentioned Alex Manes/Forrest Long, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: It’s early; it’s a weeknight. Michael can only be here to get blasted or for Marco himself, and both of them know it.It’s been a while since this was a game, for Michael. The flirting he did with Maria was something else, a class all her own. Sex, and the lead up to sex, for the longest time was either life-or-death or it was a helpless, hopeless lashing out for any human contact.(It was either Alex, or it was Maria, or it wasn’t.)So this is nice.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Original Male Character(s)
Series: made it through the milky way [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046008
Comments: 22
Kudos: 47





	looking for yourself out there

**Author's Note:**

> this is a semi-continuation of my Michael Week ficlets you can find on my tumblr tagged "mgweek20", in that that's where Marco makes his first appearance and kyle and forrest's "unsolicited wingmanning" takes place, but you don't have to read that to understand this.
> 
> thanks to lambourn, adiwriting, christchex, and everyone else for holding my hand through this, please enjoy! <3

Michael’s barely been at the bar at Planet 7 ten minutes when someone slides a glass of top-shelf whiskey right into his hands. He knows those long, dark fingers—has noticed them even when he wasn’t trying to. It’s impossible not to notice someone who’s noticing you so openly. With the scent of the booze swirling in his head, he finally glances up to meet Marco’s eyes and his easy, open smile.

“Hey, Michael. How’s it going?” Marco asks, leaning on the bar just a little. The way he leans accentuates his strong forearms, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and from where Michael is seated the unbuttoned collar of Marco’s shirt is right in his line of sight. In every way, Marco moves like someone who knows what he wants and knows what he’s got—Michael in front of him, at his bar, both of them well aware Marco’s made no secret of his interest. Michael isn’t sure what kind of unsolicited wingmanning Kyle and Forrest have been up to, but now that it’s finally landed his butt in this seat he probably should stop complaining.

It’s early; it’s a weeknight. Michael can only be here to get blasted or for Marco himself, and both of them know it.

It’s been a while since this was a game, for Michael. The flirting he did with Maria was something else, a class all her own. Sex, and the lead up to sex, for the longest time was either life-or-death or it was a helpless, hopeless lashing out for any human contact.

(It was either Alex, or it was Maria, or it wasn’t.)

So this is nice.

“It depends,” Michael says lightly, letting himself lean forward just a little as well. “This whiskey for me, or are you just lost?”

Marco’s grin widens. “Just you and me here. You tell me.”

It’s not strictly true. Other people are at the tables or milling around, chatter and laughter audible over the music, but Michael’s the only one at the polished bar, the sole recipient of Marco’s attention.

“I was under the impression you’d been told a little bit about me,” Michael says, tilting his head to give the pouty look that’s always such a crowd-pleaser. “Valenti and Long give you the impression I was a top shelf kinda guy?”

“They kind of gave me the impression you were off the market, actually, but here you are. Just want to make the right impression—but I wouldn’t be much of a bartender if I didn’t give you a chance to pick your own poison if you’re not satisfied.”

His smile changes, goes a little shyer, a little less brilliant, but that doesn’t mean it fades at all. Michael has to duck his head and clear his throat to get away with it.

“You got me in one, actually,” he finally admits, clearing his throat and taking a deep sip.

“Lucky me.”

Marco pushes off from the bar and turns his attention toward finishing prep for the evening rush, slicing limes with quick, deft knifestrokes. Michael’s stomach drops. It really has been too long since he’s played this game, flirted with the intention of charming someone instead of as a formality, a holding pattern ‘til the predetermined main event. He must have missed a step somewhere and now Marco’s lost interest.

“So, Michael Guerin, what do you do for fun?”

Michael blinks.

“What?”

“What do you do for fun? What makes you tick? I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know that much about you—” he flashes that smile again, “—and I’d like to.”

“Well, uh…” Michael flicks through anything that might be an acceptable response. When was the last time he worried about coming off as a boring dork to a partner? It was never a factor with Alex, who saw right through to the core of him from day one. It wasn’t a factor with Maria, either; theirs was a slow burn, fueled by enough low-simmering animosity that it wasn’t until the day they woke up and realized they knew each other already that those feelings changed.

“…Spend a lot of time in places like this, for the most part,” he says.

“Yeah, Pony’s your usual watering hole, right? DeLuca’s good people. I, uh, I heard you two broke up. Sorry, man.”

Small towns. Gotta love ‘em.

Marco continues, “I’ve heard I should never play pool against you, either, but that just sounds like a challenge to me. Maybe I’ll have to swing by someday and take you for a spin.”

Michael sputters into his drink while Marco tosses his head back and laughs in pure delight.

“That was adorable,” he declares as Michael regains himself. “I officially don’t feel embarrassed about how hard I grilled your friends about you anymore.”

“Glad to be of assistance.”

Marco shrugs and flips his knife casually. “What’s a little mild humiliation between friends, hm?”

Liquid heat zips down Michael’s spine. Hopefully, if he’s blushing, his recent brush with choking is a good enough excuse.

Oh my god, Michael, don’t think about choking right now.

Marco flips his knife again before neatly sliding the sliced limes into a container and stowing them in the fridge below the bar. He’s showing off with moves like that, but damn if it isn’t working. The motion of his hands, the sound of his voice and its slight accent, the easy way he flirts...heat blooms in Michael’s stomach, and he crosses his arms and leans forward.

“Why did you ask around about me? Surprised you didn’t just walk right up, I’m sure somebody let you know I’m easy,” he says with a smooth grin. No use denying the reputation he so carefully constructed for the past ten years, even if he feels it pressing in against him from all sides more and more these days.

Marco glances at him sharply then drops his eyes back to washing off his knife; Michael squirms at all the things a look like that might mean. What have people told Marco about him? Is he pissed that Michael is bringing up something he was politely ignoring? Does he think Michael is being judgmental? Fuck. Why did he say anything?

“I asked around about you because I wanted to know about you,” Marco says. “Easy or hard to get, doesn’t matter to me. Is that so hard to believe?”

Michael swallows dry. “Nope. You seem like a good guy. Almost too good to be true.”

Marco whistles low and looks up, this time with a sparkle and a wink. “That’s a line. But you make it work. Charming.”

With no idea how to respond to that, Michael drinks down the last drops of whiskey in his glass, tilting his head to expose the line of his throat as he does it, feeling a renewed flush of arousal as Marco’s eyes follow that line. Then he puts his glass down, leans further forward, and says, “My turn to ask questions. What brings you to Roswell? If you grew up here, I feel like I’d remember you.”

“Nah, I’m from Santa Fe. Born and raised there, did a couple years getting a degree in massage therapy—” he winks again, and Michael’s thighs clench, “—and it was actually this bar that got me down here.” He gestures around them, and the smile on his face then is something softer and more genuine than the flirty smiles of before. “Everyone deserves to be around their people, you know? I saw a job posting for a queer bar in a small town and knew I wanted to be a part of it.”

“That’s altruistic.”

“Nah. More nosy than anything else. No better place for gossip, and, well…” he gestures to himself. “Believe it or not, I get _great_ tips. When Blair’s not getting great tips, that is.”

To the right of them, the door opens in a rush of air, and a group of well-pregamed girls tumbles in. As Michael watches, they head straight for a table close to the dance floor, hand in hand.

Marco’s warm, low chuckle pulls Michael’s attention back to him like a magnet, and he says, “See what I mean? She’s catnip to groups like that. But too bad for them—she’s not in until way later tonight.”

“You’re not so bad,” Michael says, giving him a blatant once-over.

“So, before the after-dinner rush gets started, my turn to pry now.”

Michael stiffens slightly.

“Kidding, kidding. Only _mildly_ invasive questions, I promise.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“What brings you to my doorstep? I’ve been working here for about a year, but I only started seeing you a month ago or so. What changed? You don’t carry yourself like a man who isn’t used to your identity, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Place tends to be a little loud for me most nights. Plus I’m better at holding up a bar than I am on the dance floor, and other places in this town could use that structural support, if you get me.”

“Sounds like an invitation, if you ask me.”

“Huh?”

Marco grins. “Anyone can dance if they’ve got the right partner.”

“Ha. You say that now; you haven’t seen my moves.”

“ _Yet_.”

“That’s a threat, not an invitation,” Michael said with a disbelieving laugh, pointing at Marco, almost making finger guns, his most tried and true dance move. Marco just laughs along, though, curly hair bouncing in the low yellow and pink neon light. Every move he makes is just a little mesmerizing the more Michael watches him. _This_ guy is interested in _him?_ It made more sense when it was purely hypothetical, hearsay from Kyle and Forrest. But this guy has Roswell’s Most Eligible Bachelor written all over him, what does he want with Michael?

“So what changed?” Marco asks, pulling Michael’s attention back to the conversation.

“My sister started coming here. Isobel Evans? She, uh, _met_ Blair the first time she came here, and it was an eye opening experience. So we’re all regulars now.”

“Oh, _that_ Isobel.” Marco’s face turns impish. “You should tell her Blair says hi. And tell her thank you from me.”

A guy drops himself into the bar stool next to Michael and says, “Hey, man, can I get an Old Fashioned?”

“Sure, coming up,” Marco replies.

Bubble popped, Michael sits up, brushing a hand over his chest, glancing around the bar. He hadn’t realized how far across the bar he’d started leaning, drawn in as if by gravity, or how full the bar is getting, or how dark the sky is outside.

“I’ll get going,” he says awkwardly, scooping his hat onto his head. “Don’t want to get in your way.”

“You’re not in the way, but sure,” Marco replies. “Look, um, I get off at midnight, if you wanted to come by. We can go back to my place…if you’re feeling this as much as I am.”

It takes Michael a couple moments to answer, distracted as he is by watching Marco pour the drink and hand it off. Is he feeling…this? Whatever this is? This isn’t like any other hookup Michael’s ever had.

But hell, why the hell not?

“I’ll be here,” he says, and heads out into the night.

* * *

They stumble into Marco’s dark apartment, Michael’s fingers in Marco’s belt loops, lips against his neck as he fumbles with his keys and closes the door behind them, spinning to push Michael up against it, hips rolling forward, pinning him with a jolt of thick, sweet pleasure that had him slamming his head against the wood to gasp in air. As Michael grips his shoulders, shoving his overshirt down to his elbows, Marco attacks his exposed throat with lips and teeth, until Michael pushes himself off to stagger deeper into the room, heading for the door that’s gotta be either a bedroom or bathroom, either one will do at this point.

It’s the bedroom. Michael barely recognizes the bed before his back hits the dark blue quilt, Marco climbing up to straddle him.

Then he’s blinking in the lamplight, up at Marco’s bitten-red lips and bright smile.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Michael echoes.

Marco palms his hips and tugs him in closer, their stomachs and chests pressing together as Michael’s thighs fall open around Marco’s waist. If he rolls his hips, he could rub his cock against the strong plane of Marco’s stomach. If he does, will Marco hold him tighter? Maybe those hands will grip down hard, holding him in place, mastering him. Maybe Marco will let him writhe in his arms while he watches with molten dark eyes, until Michael is just on the brink of coming and Marco pulls him away, ready for the real fun to begin. Maybe, maybe—but what does Marco _want?_ How does Michael please him—or displease him in the right way?

He always knows, with Alex.

But he isn’t with Alex right now. Michael slides his hands down Marco’s arms to ground himself. It isn’t fair to compare every lover to the one that can’t compare. Michael hasn’t been like this since he was nineteen, unable to think of anyone else no matter who he’s with.

And Marco is kind, and interesting, and interested in Michael. He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“I can hear your brain firing away,” Marco murmurs, lifting the hem of Michael’s shirt until Michael gets the hint and pulls it off completely. “It’s okay. Just let go.”

Michael shivers, feeling exposed, shivering again when the fabric of Marco’s undershirt rasps against his nipples and he arches up into the sensation. Marco doesn’t know what he’s asking for, Michael thinks with a breathless laugh. But god if it isn’t an intoxicating thought all the same.

One of Marco’s hands drags a hot line from his hip to the small of Michael’s back, forcing it into a sharper arch. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. I’m thinking you should kiss me. How about you?”

“Great minds think alike,” Michael replies, letting his eyes fall half-shut, leaning in until he feels Marco’s lips against his own.

But instead of initiating the kiss, Marco just speaks against his mouth, driving Michael even deeper into his own head, where all he wants is to _let go,_ go boneless in this man’s arms and let every word, every sensation, _everything_ wash over him.

“Mm. That all? I know you’ve got something else going on up here.”

That hand of his drags all the way up Michael’s spine to cup the back of his neck, fingers massaging slow circles at the base of his skull. Michael moans, letting the weight of his head relax into Marco’s strong hand, eyes closing all the way.

“Sure, babe. Take your time.”

Michael’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and brushes Marco’s lower lip as he does, they’re still so close. Marco hums, and Michael flushes, cock throbbing. Fuck, can’t they just get to the main event? Why talk?

Finally, he says, “It’s just been a while.”

Marco pulls back a bit, even though that’s the last thing Michael wanted, even though Michael tries to follow him only to be stopped by the hand in his hair holding him back, even though that little tug shocks an embarrassing little noise out of him, and Marco’s touch turns more soothing, sliding down his back again, petting him like he’s a stray dog.

It’s not the worst analogy Michael’s ever inflicted on himself.

But Marco just says, “Oh, shit, is this too soon for you? I know you and Maria DeLuca just broke up, I’m sorry, I don’t want to push you—”

“No! No, I’m fine,” Michael says, wrapping his hands around Marco’s biceps like he might disappear.

It’s not fine. He still can’t set foot in the Pony without wanting to do something horrible like break down and beg; he still has all these parts of him aching with a love that has nowhere to go, all these parts that miss everything she’s ever been to him so horribly he doesn’t know how to start making them something new to each other again, no matter how determined they both are to be friends. But that also isn’t what this is about.

“Just…look, there’s a reason that when I’m hooking up I usually keep it to tourists already on their way outta town. I get attached. It’s annoying. I don’t wanna make things weird with you.”

Marco’s brow furrows. Anxiety squirms in Michael’s stomach. Then Marco says, “Annoying for you, or your partners have told you it’s annoying?”

“Uh…”

“Uh-huh. Well…hey, I think it’s okay to get attached. Maybe we’re gonna end up with 2.5 kids and a dog one day, maybe we’re gonna fuck a few times and go our separate ways, but either way I don’t think _attachment_ is wrong. People need attachments. We need each other. We’re _attached_ whether we’re friends or fuckbuddies who don’t say hi on the street or whether it’s our fiftieth wedding anniversary. So it’s okay.”

Michael just gapes at him, and he lets out a self-deprecating laugh.

“Okay, yeah, sorry. Hope I didn’t ruin the mood too much by getting all philosophical. There, that’s _my_ hookup horror story trait. I’ve probably got some poetry around here I’ll start reading next…”

Michael’s dick _has_ softened, but that’s a minor roadblock. He still surges forward and kisses Marco full, lips parting, sliding together, hot and wet and Michael lets out a shuddery breath against his mouth at how good it feels, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

When they part, Michael says, “You didn’t give a scenario where we don’t have a second date at all.”

Marco grins, then Michael yelps as he’s pulled to the side, rolled so he’s on his back with Marco hovering over him, hands on either side of his chest, faces inches apart.

“That’s right, I didn’t.”

As he speaks, he pulls his undershirt off and tosses it aside, and Michael shakes his head, hair flung across the pillow.

“I don’t get you,” he says, a little out of breath, a little out of belief.

And Marco just shrugs, shoulders rolling artfully, so mesmerizing Michael can’t help but roll his thumbs into the hollows of his clavicles so he’ll understand the movement with another set of senses next time it happens.

Bending to kiss Michael’s neck, Marco murmurs, “What’s to get? I think you’re interesting.” His lips draw across to the arch of Michael’s throat, and Michael swallows against the light pressure. “I think you’re hot.” His lips move with every word they shape. “I like the way you flirt.” He grins against Michael’s skin. “I like how you react when _I_ flirt with _you._ ”

He sits up, making Michael gasp at the sensation of bare air where his mouth just covered.

“So yeah,” Marco says, “I’m already looking forward to more. It isn’t any more complicated than that.”

Michael shakes his head again, searching the look on Marco’s face for any trace of pity and finding, impossibly, nothing at all. 

Until there is a flicker of _something,_ some mild uncertainty or regret that makes Michael want to curl up, pull his knees to his chest and turn his back, protect himself where he’s vulnerable, but he forces a full breath into his lungs and stays still, doesn’t give in to his knee-jerk reaction, relaxing one muscle at a time until the feeling passes.

“So…” Marco runs a hand lightly down Michael’s chest, so light he might be waiting for Michael to tell him to stop. “Are we still down for this?”

The check in makes it a little easier to breathe. What’s wrong with him? Even when he was a kid he was never nervous like this for a hookup. Maybe he just hadn’t cared as much what those people thought of him, those non-Alex people, as he cares that he doesn’t pop whatever dream-like idea this kind, funny, _normal_ man has of him. But that normalcy, that genuine, deep down authentic humanity in Marco, it’s almost intoxicating, so Michael grabs hold of the reassurance with both hands.

So Michael says, “Hell yeah. I’m still down if you are,” and if the words are awkward he saves it by arching his hips up to rub against Marco’s thigh. At the apex of his arch, Marco’s hand snaps down to seize his hip, holding him in place, fingertips digging into his ass, and Michael lolls his head, humming out an appreciative moan.

“Hell yeah,” Marco says in turn, and bends down to kiss him, rough and hot, lips and tongues sliding together as Michael works his hips to get a little friction going even as Marco holds him even harder and tighter.

They move like that until Michael’s dick is fully hard, and all the while Marco speaks his pleasure out loud, little _yeahs_ and _like thats_ and _so goods_ that have Michael tongue-tied and overwhelmed at the feedback. Then, suddenly, Marco drops him suddenly, letting his ass bounce against the mattress, Marco’s fingers dancing across Michael’s stomach to the button of his jeans, flicking it open. Michael wiggles to help his pants down and off, but his efforts are made null and void when Marco slides down his body to pull them off completely, tossing them to the floor, and he bares his teeth in a grin against the thin skin of Michael’s inner thigh.

“God, you’re hot,” Marco says, and Michael laughs.

“God, you’re good for my ego.”

“Hey, when I’m right I’m right.”

Michael just shakes his head, but he doesn’t try to hide the little smile that spreads across his face as Marco lays kisses and nips across his thighs, and Michael spreads his legs to give him more room to work.

With Alex, his next move would be obvious—slide his hand down to the front of his briefs, grip his cock through the fabric, rub slowly until Alex grabs his wrist and pins it to his side, dark, intense eyes pinning the rest of him, the intoxicating _intent_ there pinning the rest of him, making him arch and beg and _know_ what’s coming next. 

But Michael’s been with guys, he’s been with girls, even when he tried so goddamn hard not to compare all of them to Alex he never _quite_ succeeded except, most of the time, with Maria...but he’s never had such a hard time thinking past Alex’s image in his mind. Marco deserves better. Marco deserves…

Then Marco is sliding back up, hands on either side of Michael’s face, tip of his nose trailing from chin to cheek, then he’s nuzzling Michael’s ear and whispering, “I can practically _taste_ your brain working away right now. It’s okay. Just want to make you feel good, yeah? You want that too?”

Michael’s voice comes out raspy. “Y-yeah.” But to make it stronger, he cups his hand around the back of Marco’s neck, rubs a thumb down and rolls it against the top of his spine. People tend to like the roughness of Michael’s callouses against their skin, and Marco’s a vocal non-exception, _purring_ right in Michael’s ear at the sensation, and Michael shudders when he’s rewarded with the molten-hot slip of a tongue against his ear in reward.

And then Marco sits up again, Michael’s hand flopping back down to the sheets, and Marco says, “Good. But you’re gonna have to keep telling me, Michael Guerin. Let me hear you wanting it; let me hear you feeling good.”

“I—uh,” Whatever Michael was about to say gets lost as Marco starts to roll his waistband down, fingers seeking ever farther as he goes, until the fabric tugs underneath him, over the curve of his ass and gone, to be shimmied off his legs and kicked aside like the rest of his clothes. “You’re still clothed,” he points out, a little self-consciously. 

“That’s right,” Marco teases. “What’re you going to do to get them off of me?”

Now _that_ is challenge. Michael wraps his legs around Marco’s waist, high enough that he gets bare skin for his own hot skin to roll against, and with that leverage he rolls his ass back down against Marco’s cock bulging at the front of his jeans. The rough fabric, the cold rasp of his zipper, it scrapes against Michael’s skin, but the one-two of harsh sensation in the middle of all that warm, soft skin only makes it better, makes wetness bead at the tip of his dick. 

“Mmm, fuck, that’s a good start,” Marco moans, then his hands are back on Michael’s hips, his ass, holding him at a sharp angle, frotting them together.

Michael gasps when Marco’s fingers tighten on him, pull his ass apart. His weight sags in Marco’s grip, no longer forcing himself up with his legs around his waist, as cool air brushes against sensitive skin. 

“Yeah? You like that?”

Michael nods, but Marco just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

“Is that a yes? The gasp was a good start…” 

He digs his nails in, just a little, ten dully stinging crescents, and this time Michael _whines,_ before he can even help himself or second guess the embarrassment of the reaction, as his cock twitches against his stomach.

“Oh, but that’s _better._ I knew you could do it.”

The praise drops straight into Michael’s veins like something sweeter than acetone’s ever been. It clears some of the fog from his mind.

Finding his voice, he says, “You gonna tease me like this all night? You tryin’ to see if I can make you come in your pants, ‘cause I’m up for it…”

Marco drags his nails lightly from Michael’s ass to the outsides of his thighs. “Nope. Just waiting to hear the magic word.”

He punctuates his words with a harder buck of his hips, thrusting right against the lower curve of Michael’s ass, punching another harsh breath from his lungs. He still doesn’t reach down to touch himself.

“ _Please,_ ” Michael grunts, and Marco lets out a wordless, happy croon, dropping him to the bed again.

“There we go, babe. That’s more like it.”

Fuck. He’s a goner.

Marco sits up on his knees to finish undressing, grinning, teeth white in the low light, slowly rolling his body as he strips off his pants and underwear. It’s over the top enough that Michael snorts out a laugh before it even crosses his mind that that might be insulting. But, fuck, he’s such an asshole, his mouth drops open to explain himself, only for Marco to fit a finger underneath his chin and push his jaw back up, mouth closed.

“That’s what I was going for,” he says, grin softening into a twinkling smile, and pushes his underwear down, freeing his cock, cutting off any laughter as Michael drops back down into the mood. Heart fluttering in his chest, Michael turns his head to kiss Marco’s thumb, parting his lips when that digit presses down, taking it into his mouth.

“You like that?”

Marco’s head tilts like he’s watching something fascinating, and he slides his thumb in deeper, pressing down against Michael’s tongue. Clearly he’s not expecting a verbal reply this time, but Michael hums out anyway. Wanting more words of praise, greedy for it, pathetically so. Always. Is it easier or harder to be greedy like this with someone who doesn’t know him? Someone he can’t, doesn’t trust with all of him like he does the people he loves...but someone with far less reason to know all the ways he should have to work harder to deserve it.

“Fuck yeah,” Marco says, and then his thumb is pulling away, and all Michael does, chasing it just an inch, fixing his teeth, even just below the first knuckle, just lightly, just to say _no, please, please, no_ without opening his throat to let out the whine—

But then he’s making soft, soothing sounds, other hand tangling in Michael’s hair, thumb stroking down across his cheek to rest against the corner of his mouth. “Shh, babe, no worries, I’ll give it to you.” 

Two fingers nudge the seam of his lips, and he opens for them so, so easy, eyes falling shut as he runs his tongue down between them and back up. Marco starts thrusting them just gently, shallowly, not nearly even aiming for the back of his throat, just giving him enough friction to _matter_ against his lips and against his tongue.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Marco breathes. “Holy shit. You like that? You like having something in your mouth? ‘Cause I can work with that, babe, you know I can. That’s right, you want more?”

Michael hums again, even deeper and longer, and on a long breath, the kind of breath someone takes when they’re holding something back, Marco slides his fingers in deeper. Slowly, he starts moving his hips in the same rhythm as his fingers; now that they’re both naked, it’s all skin on skin, and even this artless motion, unguided by any hands holding them together, just the slide of their cocks alongside each other and against each other’s stomachs has pleasure running hot through Michael’s veins. He can’t think beyond the point where his lips meet Marco’s knuckles, anyway, even though he almost wants to tell him he could take another finger, that he could take more, could be better…

But Marco’s eyes are still fixed on Michael’s face. He hasn’t lost that look of interest for a single second, and that even more than the way they’re humping against each other has Michael’s face flushing, eyelids fluttering, throat working to keep drool from sliding past his lips. His jaw starts to ache just a tiny bit, and that’s when a moan slips out, mouth opening sloppily as Marco scissors his fingers and pulls them away.

“Damn,” Marco breathes as Michael works out the ache. “Just...damn. You’re something else. Where do we want to take this? When you showed up at the bar today I just wanted to get my hands on you, but now...seems like you might enjoy something else a little better?”

“Guess you found me out,” Michael says lazily, letting the tip of his tongue stroke his bottom lip. “You should see my references.”

“Oh, I’m already past needing a second opinion.”

He slides his spit-slick hand down to wrap around Michael’s cock, stroking him slow and firm and Michael shows his approval by rocking up into his grip.

“Feel good?” Marco prompts, and this time Michael answers out loud in words.

“Y-yeah, uh...you’ve got nice hands.”

Great. Smooth, Guerin. Way to go. Complete and utter genius…

But Marco _grins,_ delighted, tightening his grip, flexing his fingers, making Michael’s toes curl. “You should see what my fingers can do,” he says. “And you know what? I think you will. _Next_ time.” He actually _winks_ at that.

So he’s still on about the second date. Still plenty of time for him to come to his senses, though. But if he’s going to, it won’t be in this next act; Michael’s got confidence enough about that, and it’s obvious what Marco’s driving at. 

He’s good at this part—good, and ready for the sense and sensation of sucking dick to finally get him out of his head. He goes to push himself up so they can reposition, only for Marco to stop him, to pin his shoulders back down to the mattress and leave him blinking, stunned, up at the ceiling.

“Not just yet. I wanna make you come first. If that’s okay?”

Michael snorts at that. “Uh, yeah, orgasms are, uh, generally something I enjoy…”

“Just double checking. No judgment here, man.”

Marco wraps his long fingers around the base of Michael’s cock and licks a stripe up the side. Even though Michael was expecting it, the sensation still comes as enough of a surprise to make him jolt up with a shout, one that tapers off into a whimper when that tongue swirls up and around and down the other side.

“That’s what I like to hear. Want to hear every noise you wanna make, want to hear you want it.”

“I-I’ll try,” Michael blurts, too much, too vulnerable.

Marco’s face goes over all soft, so much so Michael has to look away, point his eyes right at the popcorn ceiling of Marco’s bedroom. 

“That’s all I’m asking, babe,” Marco says, just as softly. “You can do it. Just let yourself go. Let yourself feel good, like you’re making me feel good.”

And this time, he doesn’t wait for an answer, something so merciful Michael thinks he might be the Earth’s only benevolent mind reader.

Marco wraps his lips around the head of Michael’s cock and sucks, bobbing down and up without hesitation. The whole time, his hand works every inch of Michael his mouth isn’t touching, perfectly in sync, and his other hand pins Michael to the bed, a firm hold on the lowest part of Michael’s stomach, such a hot, hard hold Michael can’t help but squirm against it, crying out louder every time he fails to push past it.

“Fuck, Marco, yeah, ungh, _fuck—_ ”

Most of what he manages is garbled noises and curses, eyes squeezed shut the whole time like that might help him hide from Marco understanding any single needy breath vibrating in the air between them. But the louder Michael gets, the more he’s rewarded, Marco working his tongue against the underside of his dick, swallowing around the head, sucking smooth and hard until Michael is jerking in his grip and shouting out his closeness—

“Gonna come, shit, fuck, Marco, too much, It’s—”

Marco pulls off just in time to catch Michael coming in his hand, stroking him through it, keeping him pinned all the while until his writhing stills and he’s twitching through the final aftershocks.

“Perfect,” he breathes, voice just a little raspy as he leans up to kiss Michael, eager and rewarding and tasting of skin.

“My turn,” Michael says, licking his lips in anticipation.

“O-oh, yeah. How do you want me?”

Michael considers him, eyes trailing down his body, long limbs, soft muscles, might as well be miles of rich brown skin, cock hard against his thigh. Michael licks his lips and thinks about more motion, thinks about Marco sitting on the edge of his bed and Michael going down on his knees, thinks about sitting back against the headboard as Marco kneels above him, thrusting into his throat—

He has a lot of thoughts, enough that his dick twitches with renewed interest, but just for tonight he decides on the path of least resistance. 

“Just like this,” he says, and moves into the same position Marco just left.

And, okay, maybe he shows off a little.

He sinks down nice and long and slow, hands free, resting on the tops of Marco’s thighs, until his lips are sealed around the root of Marco’s cock.

“O-oh my god,” Marco gasps, hand flying down to grip Michael’s hair just on the right side of too tight, a-and—

Michael pulls off Marcos’ cock with a whine, an arch of his throat, the tug and burn on his scalp never failing to send him reeling, toes curling, even though he’s still too spent to really get hard again yet his dick gives another helpless twitch, and through all of it, Marco doesn’t let go. When Michael’s eyes flutter open again, he’s met with a dumbstruck, awestruck look, and he ducks it self-consciously, hiding his face once again in Marco’s groin, kissing along his Adonis belt before fitting his lips around the head again.

“You’re amazing, you’re incredible, you’re perfect,” Marco reels off. It’s distracting, it’s not true, but Michael couldn’t ever ask him to stop. “You’re even better than I thought you’d be, wanted this from the first time you walked into the bar, oh my god, Michael, Michael—!”

Being _noticed_ like that, seen and approved and desired, it bowls Michael over like a hundred shallow hookups turned into habits never could, by this person who’s just, who’s from a completely different world than the one Michael’s been wrapped up in his entire life, this breath of fresh and _normal_ air, and Michael understands in a kind of awful way, all at once, what Max saw in Jenna Cameron, what Liz might see in Diego, what Alex sees in Forrest. Marco doesn’t deserve this. Is Michael just using him, like this, a person willing to look the other way when he’s too much to handle, when too much seeps through the cracks?

Like Max and Liz and Alex and every other person in their fucked up world who’s clung too tight to normal things until they couldn’t anymore, he’s going to do it again.

He redoubles his efforts. If nothing else, Marco’s going to get a handful of damn good orgasms out of this. Michael grabs Marco’s hand and puts it back in his hair, and Marco takes the hint immediately, scratching his nails lightly across his scalp and then gripping him tight again. Michael moans approvingly, buzzing his lips around his mouthful, making Marco moan out loud to the ceiling in his turn.

With a few light thrusts up meeting every bob down of Michael’s head, Marco stutters out a warning then comes deep in Michael’s throat as Michael swallows hard around him, taking everything he’s given.

“So good,” Marco gasps, clutching hands leaving his hair to grab at other parts of him, pulling him up and into his arms. He palms all over Michael’s body clumsily until he has them arranged, side by side, legs tangled together, them face to face, and he pecks him on the lips and settles in, still breathing a little hard.

“I don’t know if you’re a cuddler,” he says, “But I say we’re going to cuddle for a few minutes. Then I’ll release you, promise.”

Michael has to clear his throat twice before he can speak, and it gives Marco a devilish glimmer in his eye that Michael can’t help but enjoy.

“Already told you I tend to get attached. Uh, physical clinginess, definitely a factor in that. Cuddle away.”

“Good.”

If he was with Alex, Michael would use his TK to grab them some water to drink and something to wipe down with. If he was with Maria, they might both climb into the shower; they might even change the sheets before heading to bed. If he was with Alex, like all the times he’s thought of _Alex_ in every lonely moment on every hollow-chested night, his palms might have burned the whole time with handprints he didn’t even know how to leave, desperate beyond rational thought to blur the lines between them in as many ways as exist in as many galaxies as ought to have separated them, if not for cosmic intervention.

But Alex isn’t here right now, and neither are the stars. Maria is at work or asleep in her bed. And Michael is just here, in his body, filling every inch of himself from his fingertips to his legs just starting to go a little sore to his mind, clearer than it’s been in weeks. And in several inches of himself, he’s touching this guy he barely knows, who’s been nothing but open and welcoming and interested to him, and who Michael just...likes.

And maybe that doesn’t have to be scary? Maybe he doesn’t have to fetch his black hat from where he left it on the chair so soon. Maybe he can just let this play itself out and head home whenever it feels right and just chill until he feels like wanting to see Marco again.

“I’m going to give you my number,” Marco declares. “You don’t have to call.”

“I think I’m gonna, though,” Michael says and means it.

Marco grins. “Good. I can’t wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be part of a malex endgame series, but I hope you guys enjoy Marco all the same! i know I do <3


End file.
